Pious by Pius Johnson Chapter One
by piousmfw
Summary: Pious is my first book. I was given up aged five to live my entire life in secure care homes, really very bad ones too. I thought I'd base my first book on my past. It wasn't easy for me. I was beaten and humiliated daily. Writing this helped me get out.


Pious

By Pius Johnson

.com

**Chapter One: "We Care"**

Ten miles west of Vancouver stood a large family house built in an ornate gothic style in the late 1880's. The same family had lived there since it was built until about thirty years ago when the last member of the family died. His wish was for the house to be used as a home for the care of people with physical or mental impairments. These were people who required organized supervision and most specifically they were people who were orphaned as children. The home was called "We Care".

One year ago they had some very special guests, a film crew who had arranged to shoot a series of health and safety videos. During their stay they had not only used the grounds as sets but employed the residents as actors. The residents of "We Care" loved the opportunity to perform. It was the only communal fun they were allowed. In fact the Manager, Clarence Smalls, was an old showman himself or rather a fringe actor who moved into the house before the last surviving member of the house died. Once the home was converted into a busy care centre Clarence forced the residents into working on and performing in seasonal plays. This was specifically so he could cast himself in every lead role and thus live out his fantasy as a cabaret dame.

However, a film was something he and the residents had never participated in. They had created many theatrical performances of famous films from the past but nothing with a camera. So working with a visiting film crew was just about too much excitement for Clarence and all of the residents to handle. The residents had never been privy to this kind of glamorous film world before; the lights, cameras, sound and exciting atmosphere. Indeed, one really must understand they were self-sufficient at "We Care". The home was miles away from any town and they all lived a closed life. Very rarely did they ever get to see or meet anyone from the outside world. Let alone rub shoulders with such talented able-bodied professionals. Therefore, you can imagine how very exciting it was for everyone to not only witness but to actually be cast to participate in such a rare cinematic experience. Needless to say everyone wanted to be a part of the production, regardless of the risks and there were risks.

Health and safety video are quite shocking. They are for example where a man would accidentally place his hand into a meat grinder and moments later he'd lift up a horrifically minced hand. Or a person would fall off a ladder and land on a spike or get run over by a forklift. Stuff like that. So far for the past four days the crew had managed to injure at least one resident a day. A couple of residents were actually rushed to hospital from a nasty injury with a waste-disposal unit.

Friday was the last day of the shoot and it was to be staged in the large workroom. The room had long rows of work benches where residents made items daily. The residents didn't mind making things or helping as it kept them busy. Most importantly work enabled them to all be together to support each other; rather than being sedated, restrained and locked up in their cells. The entire household packed the large work room. Residents sat on the floor around the set, others watched from their wheelchairs behind. Dozens sat on the worktables and the rest of the household stood crammed at the back of the workroom trying to catch a glimpse of the action. As they waited for the film equipment to be set up the residents speculated eagerly about not only who may have been cast today but how they may be hurt. One must not think that schadenfreude is an exclusive pleasure for the able bodied alone; especially when on this final day the theme was "electricity".

The doors opened and Sally, Hugo and Bobby entered. They were veterans of "We Care", lifers, old guard. They waved and sauntered in to generous applause. Hugo, Bobby and Sally had Down's syndrome and were in their 30's. The applause was not just for them but also for their missing fourth member of their metal band the "Spud Guns" who lived in isolation. Hugo led the way in. He was a gifted guitarist, solidly built, dark, mono-brow and looked like a 70's Sergio Leone western bad guy. Behind Hugo waddled in Sally the bassist, she was short, cheeky, fat and clad in a pink tracksuit. Every Christmas she would receive a large bundle of clothing from her aunt the only member of her family still in contact with her. Sally was chirpy but strangely suspicious and did the funniest random things. Bobby Marsh, albino, drummer, raised his hand in a metal salute. The crowd erupted hysterically. Everyone loved Bobby. The "Spud Guns" wrote the music for all the seasonal theatrical productions at "We Care" and therefore enjoyed marginally better treatment than most. The room calmed as the three friends took their seats at a large worktable in the centre of the room, and just like any other day, they automatically started screwing together electronic parts with the greatest efficiency and indifference.

Around them worked the four members of a camera crew. The film crew was made up of two camera operators, one soundman and the director. One should note that like many other things in life when a film production begins everyone who is attached secretly believes that they are solely responsible for creating the film themselves. Towards the end of the production or when something goes wrong then it becomes another person's fault entirely and people begin to distance themselves from the production. By the end, like rats, the crew, distributors, even audience will abandon ship until there is only one person left carrying the can; the director. The director is the sole person responsible from start to finish. He can never escape. It is the price of his glory. Max Gutman was the director of this shoot. A skinny rake of a man, grimy, English, weasel-like in appearance and nature. He was the sort of man that upon meeting most instantly hope he was going to suffer a lot of pain and humiliation. Max wore Trinity College Cambridge cufflinks hanging off his tired English city shirt. A 1940's Fair Isle pullover vest shielded his sunken chest and a battered Harris Tweed jacket hung off his skinny frame. Down below he shuffled around in navy baggy corduroys and tired old brown brogues that had seen four new resoles in their lifetime. He genuinely reeked of smoke and body odour although he didn't smoke. He had a long Hitler fringe that hung over his fair face, a large nose and a small mouth which he tended to spit from when he screamed. He had quite bad posture. Possibly from many years of studying or bowing or whatever the English did a lot. He was a strangely magnetic man and not totally unkind. Max was thirty eight however you'd think he was sixty eight as he suffered from a miserable flu virus with a burning temperature. His drive was infectious and this was a vital quality required to become the great director a role Max sincerely craved. Another great quality he shared with the best directors was his innate ability to issue and absorb Herculean levels of pain. The week had tested Max tremendously hard. For one reason or another Max had comprehensively failed to capture the footage required to assemble a winning show-reel that he so desperately required. He was employing as much realism as he could. His idea being conflict drove story, ergo the more the better. Casualties mattered little. Pain equalled win in his eyes. Not that he ever set out to harm anyone or he was a cruel man, no. Max was driven by the fact that the success of the shoot at "We Care" would prove his directing prowess and enable him to raise the finance for his big budget feature film. He just wanted to convey that on screen as thoroughly as he could.

This was the first time the crew had been allowed to enter the large old house and the atmosphere was intense in the large bright workroom. Max watched his three crewmembers as they busily set up cameras, adjusted lights and tested the sound. Being filmed and having such esteemed professional guests attracted the most excitement from the "We Care" manager Clarence Smalls. He was about sixty, tall, thin and dressed for the occasion in a flannel suit and a knitted tie. He usually wore nothing at all and just wandered the halls visiting patients at leisure. He had a lisp and thick wavy hair, which was neatly swept to the side. Clarence could barely contain his excitement. Today at long last he had been given a role to play. He was to push Muhammad in his wheelchair back and forth behind the table where Hugo, Sally and Bobby worked. Specifically he was not to touch anyone who was acting electrocuted, as this was the wrong thing to do. One must first unplug the lead and then revive them. He had his direction from Max. Everything was sorted. Muhammad his co-star was an eighteen year old severely disabled young man. He sat in his wheelchair and stared up at his red balloon which was tied around his skinny wrist and floated a few feet above him. Behind him Clarence bobbed around anxiously trying to get Max's attention. Clarence felt he needed just that little bit more direction. He could no longer hold his position. He pushed Muhammad up to Max and smiled gorgeously.

He said, "I'm ready for my close up, Mr Demille."

Max sniffed and shivered. He suffered miserably with this virus and the thought of dealing with Clarence again gave him the heebie-jeebies. Perhaps he would go away, he thought as he stared into his tablet computer. On the screen it showed a close up of Clarence's crotch bumping impatiently up against Muhammad's face as it hung out to the side of his wheelchair. Max frowned and watched Muhammad extend his tongue and vainly try to reach for Clarence's zipper. He made a loud wanting gurgle.

"Yo you?" said Max pointing to Attila the cameraman who operated a steadycam rig. "Don't be fucking funny." Attila grinned as he recorded the shot of Muhammad anyway for his own personal use.

"No, no tickles now Muhammad, I'm talking to Max," snapped Clarence. He turned Muhammad's head to the other side. Muhammad whined long and hard in protest which drowned out Clarence's question. Clarence smiled and eagerly stepped up into Max's face. "Max?" he said.

"Get back into your position, Clarence," snapped Max. Clarence lowered his finger and nodded. He retreated and pushed Muhammad back behind the worktable by the window and waited in anguish.

"Max, we're nearly set," said Victor Matlock, his right hand man and director of photography.

"Oh how nice, I was going to have a little lie down," sniffed Max sarcastically. Victor smiled, he just loved Max. He loved his wit his accent and he believed in his vision for the big feature. Victor was early forties and a native Californian. He had shoulder length fair hair and was a strict vegetarian.

"Yo, Bobby?" Said Victor. "Keep your hands still for a sec, gonna pull focus here." Vic leaned into his viewfinder and zoomed in on Bobby Marsh seated at the table. Really they couldn't have picked a braver man to be electrocuted today. Bobby couldn't give a shit about himself. He spent all of his time building stuff. He was an engineer and a great drummer. He was in his mid-thirties, kinda bald and a real hockey guy. A big Canuck fan. He always tried to get into fights when a game was on TV. But no one ever fought him. Anyway today was just another day at the office. He didn't care. He's built thousands of electric clippers over the years.

"Yo," said Max arriving over Bobby. Bobby didn't look up but continued to expertly screw the small electrical parts together.

"How're you feeling today, Max?" said Bobby working away.

"…Uh, yeah. You make a lot of those, huh?" Bobby nods. "So who're they for?" Bobby paused and looked up unsure.

"Ebay," said Sally from across the table, "Clarence sells them and buys dresses. He wears them when he makes knuckle babies with all the boys." The whole room erupted loudly in laughter.

"Ha ha, hush now Sally, we're making a film," said Clarence grinding his teeth as he rapped his fingers impatiently on Muhammad's head.

"Maxy," said Sally. Max turned to her as she licked a bead of snot from one nostril. "What other films have you made?"

He paused. The entire work room fell silent and listened intently. His crew looked up at him. Max forced a weak smile. A guilty sadness drifted over his face as if the concept of a feature film or Hollywood was a distant fantasy. His journey from London to LA was just a foolhardy self-indulgence. The years he slept on friends of friend's sofas pointless charity. Hiding out from the Feds in Mexico, the failed meetings to raise the budget, the alcohol addiction he developed. The crabs he caught. The person he married to obtain his green card all a gigantic mistake.

"…Ah I've got a great movie. "Hero's in the Clouds," it's going to be…" Max looked around the entire room that had fallen silent, all the residents felt Max's sadness and his pre-fail.

Sally suddenly lifted her top. Her tits fell out and she shouted, "Boobies."

The whole workroom erupted into ruckus laughter. Except Max who turned for help from Clarence.

"Sally. Put those filthy things away this second or so help me God missy, you will be doing "The Cage" for the next month," he snapped. Sally pulled her top down and slyly winked at Max.

"Max we're having issues with this electrical trigger, why don't you have a rest?" said Victor.

Max held his head and sat down on the table.

Thanks for reading. Please follow me.

Pious

By Pius Johnson

.com


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